


backs treat boys

by rohkeutta



Series: a pocketful of mumbles [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Massage, Muscle Kink, Mutual Thirst, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Sexual Tension, Twink Tank, do not copy to another site, general horniness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 07:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21158219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohkeutta/pseuds/rohkeutta
Summary: “What? No, you’re not boring,” Steve protests, bless his heart. “It’s just—I have this kink in my back, probably from work or the gym. It’s hard to get comfortable.”“Where?” Bucky asks, looking back down at his tablet and swiping to the next slide. He took a beginners' massage therapy course at the community college last summer to keep himself from doing something dumb, like fucking his way through the city because he was bored while Steve was on a work thing in Europe. Missing his best buddy was perfectly okay, but even Bucky, a self-proclaimed Cheerful Thot, felt it might be a little excessive to go on a one-night-stand binge just because his pal was out of town for a few weeks.





	backs treat boys

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote about half of this in January, and found the draft again now that I'm slowly getting over the writer's block. With this quick romp I'm happy to announce that me and my terrible jokes are back in business.
> 
> Thanks to gracelesso for a swift and ruthless beta, and a google search for the truly amazing yet despicable title. :')

It certainly  _ starts _ innocently enough.

They’re lazing around in Bucky’s living room: Steve curled up at one end of the couch dicking around with his phone, Bucky half-draped over the armrest at the other. It’s a perfectly bland November Sunday afternoon, and the drizzling rain and the half-light cast a funny, greyish tone over the room.  _ Grand Designs Australia _ is on in the background, volume turned low, because Bucky likes to hear about the utterly idiotic, extravagant houses people want to build—but he  _ also _ needs to finish checking his Monday morning presentation slides for any typos because he’s a nervous creature when it comes to his own brilliance.

It’s slow going due to all the technical terms and the amount of information he’s packed into the slide notes for his own use. Steve keeps shifting next to him on the couch, clothes rustling. Bucky tries his best to block it out, but the sounds and movement are making his brain stall, and finally he snaps, “Do you have ants in your pants?”

Steve startles so badly that he drops his phone and has to dive to its rescue, catching it barely before it can hit the floor. “What?”

He looks so fucking dumb like that, in his sweats and Adidas hoodie, his eyes big and caught off guard, hair sticking up in tufts. Bucky’s irritation disappears in a blink, replaced by something fond and utterly fucking unnecessary.

“You keep fidgeting and it’s killing my concentration,” Bucky says. “You don’t have to stay if you’re restless, I know this is boring.”

“What? No, you’re not boring,” Steve protests, bless his heart. “It’s just—I have this kink in my back, probably from work or the gym. It’s hard to get comfortable.”

“Where?” Bucky asks, looking back down at his tablet and swiping to the next slide. He took a beginners' massage therapy course at the community college last summer to keep himself from doing something dumb, like fucking his way through the city because he was bored while Steve was on a work thing in Europe. Missing his best buddy was perfectly okay, but even Bucky, a self-proclaimed Cheerful Thot, felt it might be a little excessive to go on a one-night-stand binge just because his pal was out of town for a few weeks.

“Uh.” Steve twists his shoulders, brow furrowing in thought. “Below my shoulder blade, but I think my whole upper back is messed up.”

"Yeah, those ones are nasty," Bucky agrees, "damn near impossible to reach by yourself." 

Bucky should know—he’s fucked his upper back up more than a handful of times by hunching over his computer at work, or getting involved in overly gymnastic sex.

He checks the slide number, relieved to see there’s just four left. “If you can sit still for five minutes, I can do something about it.”

“Really?” Steve’s face brightens, and he looks so earnest and grateful that Bucky’s stomach twists funnily at the sight. “You’re the best, Buck.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says, waving his hand dismissively, willing his face to not heat up. God, Steve’s  _ so fucking nice.  _ It really ought to be illegal to look like an Olympic athlete with a side gig as an eyelash model AND not be an asshole. 

Bucky’s incredibly embarrassing, platonic bro-crush on Steve is his best-kept secret. It’s probably normal to have a heart boner on one’s friend, but the whole deal makes Bucky just a tad too wistful to be comfortable telling Steve about it. Steve’s just so fucking funny and kind, always ready to bring beer and a sympathetic ear if Bucky needs to vent, and he knows Bucky so well, so who can blame him for enjoying that. Honestly, if Bucky could imagine sex with Steve without getting the giggles, he would ask Steve out. 

Bucky surely can’t find anyone more suitable to date, but unfortunately his dick-brain can't seem to get over every undignified and dumb thing Steve and he have done during their friendship. Since Bucky enjoys sex very much and has been known to go a bit nuts if he’s not dicked down regularly, it’s kind of a big deal for him. Besides, it's not like Steve seems keen to date Bucky either, so being more than friends is sadly just wishful thinking (and a little wishful drinking, too, sue him. He’s started going to gym way more enthusiastically since they introduced the wine yoga to their repertoire, not that those two things have  _ anything  _ to do with another. It’s not like he’s a  _ regular _ or anything.) 

Steve’s overwhelming Everything Bagel Guy potential without  _ actually _ being Everything is very possibly the reason why Bucky’s been going around the block like a cat in heat, looking for someone with the qualifications to dick him speechless and not make him feel weird about it. 

God, maybe it’s just time for him to suck it up and start flirting back to the forty-something guy who takes the same spinning class as he does and always wears a shirt that proclaims  _ MATH. THE ONLY SUBJECT THAT COUNTS _ . Long-lasting relationships have been built on worse things than ten years of age difference, lame pun shirts, and not knowing a single thing about the other, right?

At least his PowerPoint presentation is fucking aces. Now that Steve’s stopped fidgeting, Bucky can finally focus properly and manages to finish in record time. When he turns his tablet off and drops it onto the side table, Steve’s face is a little red and scrunched up adorably with the effort to stay still, and Bucky  _ really _ shouldn’t like him so much. It’s becoming a big,  _ big _ problem.

“Alright, Rogers, shirt off and on your stomach, let’s see what I can do.” Bucky vaults over the back of the couch to go look for some lotion as Steve springs up from the couch in relief. 

_ Technically _ Bucky does have massage oils in his apartment, but he’s  _ not _ rubbing anything on Steve that’s so intimately associated with getting fingers up his own ass. So. Anyway. Lotion will have to do. 

But when he gets back in the living room after a brief rummage in the bathroom, he actually halts in his tracks, because for once Steve’s listened and has laid down on the rug with a throw pillow under his head, his arms folded, and-- 

Bucky’s brain bluescreens for a few moments. Because that’s. That’s a lot of muscles on Steve’s back and. On his arms. And he—he probably could bench press Bucky now with all that power bulging under his skin and. Okay. Uh.  _ Okay. _

“This alright, Buck?” Steve asks cheerfully, and Bucky tries to scramble his brain functions back online as he gets closer and kneels next to Steve, not able to take his eyes off of Steve’s insane shoulder to waist ratio, laid out on obscene display.

Jesus  _ fuck, _ he looks  _ exactly _ like Bucky’s favorite pornstar. Bucky’s brain helpfully supplies the footage he watched last night of said pornstar fucking a slim little twink against a wall, the muscles in his torso flexing and glistening with sweat.

Bucky takes back everything he’s ever thought of Steve not reaching Everything Bagel status and how sadly platonic his bro crush is. It’s-- It’s extremely  _ not fucking platonic,  _ because suddenly Bucky wants Steve to throw him around like a sack of potatoes, which is a full-on hotline to his dick.

“You’ve, uh,” Bucky starts in an oddly high voice, his palms getting sweaty. “You’ve been to the gym a lot lately?”

“Huh?” Steve mumbles, flexing his fingers as he’s prone to do when he thinks. “Yeah, I’ve been kinda stressed so I, dunno, maybe went a bit overboard. My shirts are getting a little tight.”

_ His shirts are getting a little tight, _ Bucky thinks hysterically, more thankful than ever that he left the massage oils out, because now he’s  _ absolutely _ envisioning sitting on Steve’s ridiculous, beginner-dildo-sized fingers. “Put your arms down to the sides of your body,” he manages, sounding almost normal. “Don’t cross them like that.”

Steve does as he’s told, settling comfortably on his stomach and moving his arms so that his back is relaxed, and Bucky almost whimpers at the sight. He really wasn’t expecting to get a revelation today that Steve is indeed the Everything Bagel Guy of his dreams, and probably the love of his life too while they’re at it, but he just has to roll with it now.

“I’m gonna sit on you,” Bucky warns, moving to straddle Steve’s horrible, terrible, itty bitty waist and bouncy ass. “Tell me if I’m too heavy.”

Steve lays his cheek against the pillow and glances up at Bucky from the corner of his eye, grinning. “What, a twinky dude like you? Gimme a break, Barnes, hop on.”

Bucky barely manages to bite back the garbled sound that threatens to spill out of his mouth, because it's generally not the best idea to say  _ I want to hop on your dick  _ to one's best pal. 

“You asked for it,” he mumbles instead, biting his lip, and carefully gets on, canting his hips awkwardly up so that there’s zero danger of his rapidly hardening dick to accidentally brush Steve’s back.

His brain happily provides the fact that if Steve were lying on his back, Bucky would practically be sitting on his dick, and  _ thank you,  _ he was doing  _ just fine _ without that visual. At least Steve’s closed his eyes and therefore can’t witness how desperately horny Bucky probably looks. He takes a deep breath, squirts some lotion on Steve’s shoulders, and gets to work.

* * *

Steve’s going to die.

Bucky is a solid, warm weight on Steve's pelvis, his thighs hugging Steve's sides, and his hands feel  _ heavenly, _ digging into the muscle knots. Steve's always known that Bucky is good with his hands: he's a tactile guy, played piano as a kid and does pottery and sign language like a champ. It's a given that he's got lots of dexterity and strength. 

But having Bucky dig those strong, skilled fingers into his back is something Steve was one hundred percent not prepared for. It's intimate and almost filthy, with the strong slide of Bucky's palms up and down Steve's spine, and his fingers are coaxing the kinks out, sure and steady. When Steve shifts slightly, he's shocked and embarrassed to realize that his dick is trying very hard (ha) to drill a hole in the living room floor. 

It's a perfectly normal reaction, as any massage therapist would tell him. But Steve is pretty sure it's  _ not _ normal that his involuntary boner comes with crystal-clear flashbacks to one of his favorite porn clips where a slim brunette masseur gives a handjob to a beefy jock and gets reamed in the ass for his trouble. Because suddenly all he can think of is Bucky taking his hands a little lower, just dipping under the waistband of Steve's sweats, and telling Steve to turn around; Bucky's slick fingers sliding down into Steve's pants and curling around his cock; Bucky sitting on his thighs, fingering himself open while jacking Steve off like the porn masseur. 

It's. It's very bad. Very, very, very bad. Steve isn't sure if there is any blood left in his head, all of it heading south to start a pool party. 

Of course he's sometimes thought how nice it would be to date Bucky—Bucky is wicked smart, kind and funny, and knows Steve better than anyone. Steve genuinely loves him, and can objectively appreciate how fucking handsome he is, too, with his grey eyes and dark hair and smart, red mouth that would look  _ so good _ wrapped around Steve's di--

Holy shit. 

_ Holy shit. _

Steve’s eyes fly open, and he probably jerks a little with the surprise too, judging by the alarmed yelp from where Bucky’s perched on him, but he’s too preoccupied with the revelation cast upon him by the god of horny dimwits to apologize. 

He  _ really _ wants to fuck Bucky—and also take him on a date or two hundred, and hoist him up to kiss him like they’re in  _ The Notebook, _ and possibly simply go ahead and marry him while he’s at it. He can’t believe he’s realizing that he’s  _ in love with Bucky _ while experiencing vivid massage porn fantasies.

Talk about coaxing kinks out.

“Bucky,” he says urgently, shifting to get his hands under him to dislodge Bucky and get up. “We gotta talk.”

“No!” Bucky squeaks in a voice that’s panicked and about three octaves too high, scrambling off Steve’s back. “Don’t turn yet!”

But Steve’s already flipping around, completely forgetting about his inappropriate boner until he locks eyes with Bucky and realizes two things.

One, his dick is seriously hard enough to hammer nails and very much on display thanks to the loose sweats he’s wearing.

Two, Bucky’s sitting on the floor next to the couch with a wild, mortified expression, his hair disheveled like he’s been running a hand through it, his face red as a fire truck. He’s leaning back on his hands, his legs splayed open, and there’s an obscene tent in his workout leggings that are more mesh than actual fabric. 

Steve wants to  _ lick _ him.

Bucky’s wide eyes snap to Steve’s crotch like there’s a magnet down there, and he goes impossibly  _ even redder. _ Steve’s never seen anyone blush like that, especially a guy who gets as much dick as Bucky seems to, but it’s weirdly arousing and endearing at the same time.

“You’re hard,” Bucky says, but his voice still sounds like he could get a spot in an altar boy choir. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “So are you. I’m in love with you.”

“What,” Bucky says.

“Go out with me,” Steve says. “And maybe sit on my face before that. Or after. I’m not picky.”

“Oh my  _ god,” _ Bucky manages, and then he’s throwing himself across the space between them, and Steve catches him (if barely) before he can injure himself. When Steve looks down, he has a lapful of Bucky, who’s still flushed and wide-eyed, and 0.4 seconds later he’s being kissed to an inch from his life.

Bucky kisses pretty much exactly like he gives massages: in a way that makes Steve’s dick very interested in the proceedings. But he also makes these tiny, wonderful sounds against Steve’s mouth, hands sliding up to give Steve’s shoulders a little squeeze. There are the building blocks of a beautifully mutually benefactory relationship: Bucky clearly enjoys the muscles, and if Steve gets himself all tense from making them bigger, he will very likely also enjoy giving Steve another massage. Maybe they’ll even re-enact the porn masseur scene.

Bucky also seems to love him back, which is definitely the biggest bonus of them all.

“You’re my everything bagel,” Bucky says breathlessly when they detach for longer than a split second. His eyes are shining with happiness, and he’s squirming on Steve’s lap in a way that’s practically a fast pass for Steve to get his dick wet.

Steve has no idea what bagels have to do with anything, but he kisses Bucky again, deliriously happy under his general horniness. “Yeah?” He asks, hoisting Bucky up and struggling only a little to get up to his feet. “Let’s go smear cream cheese on me, then.”

They go. He even marries Bucky eventually, although that comes a lot later than he does.

***

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://rohkeutta.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/badrohmance)


End file.
